Working Title: Flame of Anarchy
by Haladflire65
Summary: Meet Roy Mustang, a charismatic criminal who also happens to be a master of flame alchemy. What are the secrets of his puzzling past? Rated T for violence and language. Some Royai, slight AU. My first Hagaren fic, R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Meet Roy Mustang, a dashing and charismatic criminal, most wanted man in all of Amestris, who also happens to be a master of flame alchemy. But what are the secrets of his puzzling past? How did he come to be what he is now?

Rating: T for violence and language

Genre: Hmm... General, I guess, with a touch of AU and some Royai in later parts.

Notes: Hello! This is my first Hagaren fic, and boy, this is exciting... I've became a huge Roy fan, so I just had to try writing about him... And I wanted to try something different from the bajillion FMA fics out there, so here's what I thought up. Now, I'm not sure whether it's all that original or anything, but I hope it's at least a little interesting. I'm interested in darker aspects of characters, and for some reason I like it when they go bad. It's cool. I wanted to try it out on Mustang-sama^^

So, here we go.

The Flame of Anarchy

**Chapter One**

**"_Everyone's crazy about the bastard. For God's sake, he's an arsonist and thief..."_**

* * *

The young private, whose name was Michael, had never expected his first night on patrol to be so eventful.

Michael and his friend, James, were assigned to watch the military warehouses. Both were tired, sleepy and bored. At least up to midnight, that was.

"Mike... Can't we just go back to the office? This is hell, really. It's so dark you can barely see a damn thing. And besides, what idiot would attack the warehouses? There's nothing in 'em but clothes and guns." James, a talkative man, complained endlessly.

"You're not helping. Shut up, Jim," Michael grumbled, pulling out his already spotless musket to polish for another time. He checked his watch. It read ten o'clock. "Just two more hours, and we're out of here."

"I can't wait," James sighed.

The two fell into a gloomy silence. Two hours... That was a long time.

They slowly marched around the warehouses, too bored to be spooked by the dark corners and shadows. Michael caught himself wanting a robber or something of the sort would show up - make things a little more interesting, and maybe earn him a promotion. He imagined himself with stars and stripes upon his shoulders, ordering his subordinates around, winning wars and medals...

"Oi, Mike," James burst the bubble. He was nudging Michael with the butt of his gun.

Annoyed, Michael snapped, "What is it?"

James was suddenly whispering. "I thought I saw something close by."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Probably you're so eager to make us an excuse for us to report back early - "

"No, really!" James sounded afraid. "Really... There was something around..."

"Liar." Michael turned away, only to come face to face with... a man. It was someone he'd never seen before.

"Who're you?" James, also having caught sight of the person, yelped, raising his gun immediately. "Hands up!"

The man was dressed rather classily, in a dark trenchcoat and a suit, along with a brimmed hat that shadowed his face. Michael could only see his chin.

"Good evening," he said in a smooth voice, raising his hand in salute. It was gloved in white.

"This area is government property," Michael tried not to let his voice shake. Something about this person was making him afraid - was it the way he'd appeared without warning? Or was it the calm, coolness of him? "We have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Although I'm sorry to say so, I can't." The man lifted his hat, revealing rather narrow, almost Xingese, dark eyes that seemed to glint in the dark. "I have some business here. Please move, privates."

Michael blinked. How did this man know their ranks? Just by looking at their shoulders? Most people couldn't tell apart generals from corporals... Who was this person? "If you don't obey, sir, we must shoot." He aimed, his hands shaking a little, at the man's chest.

"What's your business here?" James burst out.

"Me?" The man smiled. If he weren't so nervous, Michael would have noticed the handsomeness of it. "I'm here to torch the warehouses."

Both Michael and James gaped idiotically.

"But... he's not carrying any explosives or flammable devices..." James whispered, rather loudly, to Michael.

"Maybe he's lying... Just trying to freak us out." Michael replied, not daring to take his eyes off the man. They couldn't shoot yet; the intruder hadn't actually done anything. He could be just some deranged homeless person... No, he was too well-dressed for that... Michael, breathing fast, tried to think of what he should do.

"Oh, you'll see." The man grinned again, and slowly lifted his gloved hand. Michael noticed an odd kind of circle drawn on the back of it, in red, with some triangles and symbols inside... It reminded him of something he'd seen somewhere, in a book, probably, but he couldn't place it... What was it? He doubted it was for decoration.

The man snapped his fingers.

Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion of flames and heat from one of the warehouses. All Michael could do was grab James and drop to the ground, covering his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoped he wouldn't be burned to a crisp -

"What the hell's going on!" James shouted over the roar of the fire.

"I don't know!" Michael's voice was muffled. "Shit, we've got to alert the station - "

There was another _boom_. Michael risked a glance upward. The man was still standing above them - it seemed to Michael that he was _controlling_ the flames - but that was ridiculous, impossible, absurd -

He tipped his hat, then began to walk away.

Michael tried to aim from his pitiful position on the ground, but the stinging smoke prevented him from getting a clear shot. James didn't fare any better.

"Jim, we've gotta get outta here," Michael hissed. Seeing that they had no other choice, he staggered up to his feet, dragged James upright as well, and made a dash for it.

* * *

"So he's back..." The major, called Amsterdam, rubbed his temples.

"Who? Do you know him, sir?" James asked. "We didn't see him very well - he was wearing a hat - "

"He looks fairly Oriental, I've heard, but we don't have any clear photos of him." Amsterdam sighed. "But yes, I know him very well."

Michael's eyes widened. "How..."

"He's the most famous criminal out there, nowadays." The major pulled out a newspaper and showed it to the privates. The headline read, _'A New Face in Town - the Robber Shrouded in Flames'_. "He's known as the Flame of Anarchy - everywhere he goes, lawlessness ensues. So many petty thieves and arsonists got so-called inspiration from the man - crime rates have tripled because of him."

"What's his real name, Major?" James ventured to inquire; Amsterdam wasn't in a good mood and not particularly pleased with their spectacular failure in protecting the warehouses.

"I'm surprised you don't know." Amsterdam looked down at Michael and James, who were both covered in bits of rubble and soot. " No one's seen him up so close, save talked to him. I'd suggest you read some more news." He took a draught from his large cigar. "He's called Roy Mustang."

The privates looked at each other. "Never heard of him, sir."

"Where do you two live? In an island off Tahiti?"

* * *

The next morning, newspapers were booming: _"The Flame Strikes Again! Two dozen military warehouses destroyed!"_

With some pleasure, Roy Mustang waited in line to buy a paper.

"Good morning," he said to the owner of the stand as he began to rummage for some coins.

"Aye, to you, too," the salesma, a middle-aged person with a balding head, nodded. "Heavens, my papers are going out fast today - "

"Is it because of Mustang?" Roy asked casually, handing him the coins.

"Who? The Flame? Yeah, probably. Everyone's crazy about the bastard," grumbled the man disapprovingly. "it's insane. Once I saw some boys, playing with matches, claiming that they're going to become his apprentices. For god's sake, he's an arsonist and a thief..." Suddenly the salesman lowered his voice. "But I have to admit, I quite like the Flame." He tapped a blurry photograph of a hatted man on the front page of the paper._ Not a very good shot_, thought Roy. "He's a wild, brave one. Up 'till now, no one's stood up to the government like he did... Mustang's earning lots of points from commoners like us."

"Oi, what's taking so long?" A shout came from someone behind Mustang. Taking the paper and thanking the salesman, he walked away from the stand, looking down at his purchase.

_The most recent of The Flame of Anarchy's arsons took place at more government warehouses in Central. The Flame, Roy Mustang, former colonel of the Amestris military, has again disappeared without a trace; the only two witnesses of Mustang's attack last night are newly recruited privats, Mr. M. Peterson and Mr. J. Myers. But even they, who have been reported to have held a short conversation with Mustang, have been unable to provide authorities with any new information..._

And so on and so forth.

It entertained Roy beyond words.

It was so much _fun_.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Yeah, I know I haven't updated for ages since the first chapter. Sorry - I just moved from Japan to Korea then to Canada again, and I don't have access to my own computer any more. So this time, I'm using my dad's for two hours or so. I hope you'll understand. :)

I've thought up some more ideas for the later chapters... A word of warning - I love beating up my favourite characters, and making them suffer. Muahahaha! Don't expect this story to be light on the violence, especially later on. I hope, though, it'll be at least a little interesting - please, do read on! And don't forget to review, please! (hehe, two 'please's!)

Here we go!

**Chapter Two**

**_"Sir, you haven't told me your name yet. Would you care to...?"_**

**_"Ah, where are my manners? I'm called Mustang - Roy Mustang."_**

* * *

How hard the government was trying to get its hands on Roy Mustang.

To him, it was pretty funny. No, hilarious. _Pathetic_. A part of his many motives was to show the world how worthless law and order were. He was doing a very good job of it. Many of the most popular cartoons and articles in magazines ridiculed the government and its forces - _'Amestris fails to put out a matchstick_' (although Roy wasn't particularly fond of the title), a caricature of an anonymous military officer being cooked over a fire labelled 'Mustang'... It was so amusing.

Roy sat down on a bench near the fountain. He yawned and stretched - staying up all night burning down buildings was tiring. He'd come to the conclusion that flame alchemy wasn't enough a long time ago, so he'd attempted other kinds, as well. He hadn't been sure whether it would work or not. Mustang hadn't transmutated anything other than oxygen and flames since he was learning under Hawkeye. But he'd tried - and it'd worked. After a little bit of practise he was able to put up walls or change the locations of entire bridges to aid his many escapes. And, remembering Scar from back when he'd served in the military, Roy even attempted destructive alchemy. Its results had been quite astonishing, and terrifying. The abandoned warehouse Roy chose as a target had been reduced to rubble in a single _boom_. _This,_ he'd told himself,_ is something to use only in emergencies_.

With all these arsons, robberies, escapes, research and experiments, Roy didn't have much time to even take a short nap. His limbs felt so heavy, burdened with fatigue. Perhaps he'd sleep in a tree, like he'd done several times already. No, it was midday, with too many people around. Maybe he could find an inn to rest in? He dismissed the idea when he remembered the 'wanted' posters with his name plastered over them that he'd seen previously.

"What now..." Mustang looked around. _It wouldn't hurt to get a cup of coffee..._ he thought, and agreed with himself. Conviniently, there was what seemed like a cafe not so far away, on the corner of the street. _Hey, having a dose of caffaine isn't a crime, is it?_

_What are you thinking, you idiot? The only thing you've been doing for the past year is committing so-called sins - what difference would one more make, anyway?_

Roy grinned to himself and stood up.

* * *

Jane Krowehill was eager for a cup of tea and some cake from her favourite cafe, so as soon as she was dismissed from work, she set off for the place at a brisk pace.

Jane was twenty-two and yet to be married. She was on the pretty side, with straight blond hair and green eyes, along with fair skin. But she wasn't the kind of person that stood out from a crowd - on the contrary. She was smart, but not that smart. She was friendly, but not particularly outgoing. In one word, _normal_.

She worked at a newspaper company. It hadn't been long since she first took the job - only about four months. Jane still only worked at the pressing and packaging station - she thought herself not ready to report, and had refused to head out to the field just yet. But that was the goal she was aiming for. Jane read as much as she could and always kept her ears open for interesting news. Admittedly, the most interesting thing out there these days was that arsonist, Roy Mustang. Jane often pondered many things about the man - his motives, backround, methods... Not surprisingly, she couldn't find out much. Heck, she couldn't even get ahold of a clear picture of him. It was obvious that the humiliated military had destroyed all records of their formal officer.

Today, Jane was headed to the cafe, like always. There was just one thing bothering her about her daily breaks at the place. Since last week, there had been a mysterious-looking man in her usual seat, every single day at the same time. Tom, the shopkeeper, who was also a close friend of Jane's, had no idea who he was. The person barely talked and he didn't give his name. Something about him made Jane nervous; she still hadn't been able to venture getting close enough to see his face properly. She couldn't tell what it was, but there was something about him...

He was there, today, too. Trying not to stare, Jane said hello to Tom.

"Ah, Jane! I've been waiting for you... It's pretty boring, you know, hanging out by myself in here..."

Jane cast a glance at the stranger, as if to let Tom know that he hadn't been alone. He turned a deep red. "I'd like the usual, Tom." Jane said, "Actually, could I have more sugar in my tea today?"

"Yeah, sure. Coming right up." Tom seemed glad to be able to escape. "Why don't you sit down?"

"I will." Jane chose a shadowed table, not too close to the stranger, but not that far away, either. After absently staring at her lap for a few minutes, she took out her notebook and began to scribble some random doodles in it. She did everything she could to not to stare at the man. _Staring isn't polite_. She asked herself why she was so afraid to talk to him. She had no answer to her own question.

He beat her to it. "Hi, there, would you mind sitting with me?" He had a pleasant way of talking - polite, not too loud, laid-back. "I'm rather bored."

"Are... Are you talking to me, sir?" Jane knew that there was no one else in the cafe except for Tom.

"Yes." He took off the hat he'd been wearing, revealing black hair and dark eyes. He looked Oriental, maybe Xingese, but was rather handsome in an attractively careless fashion, unlike some other Xingese scholars that Jane had met before.

"I - er- " Seeing no way to refuse, Jane moved to the indicated seat, across from the stranger. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Jane ventured to say, "I haven't seen you around here."

He grinned. "Oh, me? I don't live in this town. I'm just visiting."

"I see."

"And you, Miss? Do you live here?"

"Yes." Jane wondered whether she should say more. "What do you think of my town?"

The stranger leaned back in his seat. "I quite like it. It's nice and quiet, unlike the city I used to be in." He paused, as if pondering his next words. "I came down from Central. I used to be a colonel in the military, but I decided to give up the position."

"A colonel? Wow." Krowehill stared for a moment. Catching herself, she asked hastily, "Why did you quit?"

The man shrugged. "The job was getting to me."

"Oh."

Again, silence. It was as if the man was analyzing her with those sharp eyes of his, but it wasn't in a particularly unfriendly manner. The tea and cake came then. Tom gave Jane a quick glance, set down the tray, and left.

The stranger finally said, "What's your name, Miss...?"

"Krowehill. But you can call me Jane..." Why was she telling him her name, anyway? She took a sip of tea.

"That's a fitting name."

Before she knew it Jane had told the person all about her employment at the newspaper company, her hobbies, likes and dislikes. She found that the stranger was an attentive listener, unlike other people, who paid no attention to her, a nobody. He seemed genuinely interested, although he said nothing about himself. He was so polite! Perhaps it was because he was a former military officer - weren't all generals and all those people so?

Their topic had shifted to the government. "What do you think about Amestris's government, Jane?"

"The government?" Krowehill frowned. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before. But from what I've seen and heard - they haven't done much for us commoners. They've spent so much on the Ishval genocide... I personally didn't approve of that, even if I was a teenager back then. I've always wondered why someone with a heart couldn't take over the Furher's place. That man - he's a monster."

It was quiet. Suddenly Jane panicked, thinking that she'd said to much. The man's face had hardened, and there was something in his eyes that she couldn't dechiper. "I... I'm sorry..."

"No, it's nothing," he shook his head, "nothing."

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Well..." He sighed. "Actually, I fought in the Ishval War... I saw and did so many ugly things. That place... was a hellhole."

"I'm sorry... I didn't know..."

"Of course you couldn't know. It's fine."

After some hesitation, she asked, "What was it like there?"

The man gave a terribly hollow smile. "How to explain? Every day, we'd go out to slaughter Isvhalans - I'd get a more special task. I had to cook them all. Every damn day."

"Cook?" Krowehill put a hand over her mouth. She suddenly didn't want the rest of her cake. The man, seeming to notice, asked,

"May I have the rest of that?"

Jane nodded in answer, and taking an enormous bite out of the cake, he continued.

"I was recognized for my abilities with fire; the stupidest thing I ever did was agreeing to join that campaign." He sighed. "I was a young idiot..."

Jane had a htought creeping into her head. She knew the headlines of her newspaper off by heart. This man reminded her very much of someone she read about every day. It was so improbable; she knew she was crazy for even considering the thought. But maybe, just maybe...? Ishval... Colonel... And didn't he look Xingese? It all fit.

"Sir, you haven't told me your name yet." She said carefully. "Would you care to...?"

He looked surprised. Then he smiled. "Ah, where are my manners? I'm called Mustang - Roy Mustang."


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: Never mind. Nothing much to say here - go ahead and read^^

**Chapter Three**

**_That was a convicted criminal? That smartly dressed man with a pleasant face and demanor? Tom didn't know what to think._**

* * *

_Roy Mustang. Roy Mustang. This man... is Roy Mustang?_

The Flame of Anarchy - the arsonist and thief, brilliant criminal...

Krowehill stared, her mouth hanging open. He couldn't be... He looked _so normal_. She'd been expecting a savage, bear of a man when she read all those countless articles on Mustang. But no, this person was a _gentleman_. A good listener, not the violent type, either - just _normal_. Jane could feel herself reeling from shock, confusion and amazement. Oh, yes, and fear.

"P-please... Please don't kill me..." It was the only thing she could manage, in a pathetic whisper.

He only laughed, as if she'd just told him a particularly amusing joke. She stared.

"Why would I? You're a nice lady. I'm no longer a soldier, and I have no desire to kill any more people. The hundreds I burned to ashes are enough. I'm an arsonist, robber and alchemist, but I'm no murderer."

It seemed as though he meant it. Jane said carefully, "An alchemist?"

"Yes."

Krowehill didn't know much about the science. Or was it magic? All she was aware of was that alchemy was difficult, and beacuse of that, there weren't many people practising it. _This person must be a genius..._ Jane thought, forgetting about the 'convicted criminal' part for a moment.

"Don't be too envious. Because of my skills, I got turned into a human weapon... Sometimes it's best to be a nobody."

Jane saw the truth in that. Instead of saying so, she asked, "Why are you here, Mr. Mustang? I've heard that there's a dozen police forces after you..." Her voice dropped down to a murmur, fearing Tom, or someone else, would hear her.

"There are. But I really wanted some coffee."

"You're insane." Krowehill blurted out before she could stop herself. She cursed herself and her big mouth.

Mustang just gave a cocky grin. "Thank you."

* * *

That night, Roy saw that he was running low on his funds. He needed money, or at least something to sell.

Ah. Time to work again.

He'd found a cheap motel with an owner who was half-blind, toothpick of a man called Sanders. He introduced himself as Jonathan Fletcher, after someone he used to know when he was only a teenager. After leaving his few posessions in his room, he exited the building, telling Sanders that he was going out for dinner, as there didn't seem to be any room service. Where to today? Unlike most other days, Roy didn't have a target in mind. _Anyone will do... I just need enough to buy myself food and clothes_... He decided to head over to the richest part of town, where the people he stole from didn't have to suffer. Were his clothes good enough for that? He knew he had to blend in. Ah, well, the trenchcoat would have to do. After all, he had nothing else.

Roy pulled on his gloves. The pair didn't match - one he'd had since he was a colonel in the military. It had his transmutation circle for fire alchemy drawn on the back. He'd made the other quite recently. It had a circle meant for earth-based alchemy instead. As Roy looked at the black circle, he felt a surge of pride. It had taken a lot of research and work - nearly a month to fully develop and perfect it. But then his thoughts wandered to that woman he'd talked to this afternoon. Damn her, damn her. Thanks to her, his mind was now in turmoil. Why did she have to ask questions like, _"Don't you feel anything when you steal?"_ or _"Why do you burn down buildings?" _It irritated him, for one thing. They were things he didn't like to think about.

_Of course I feel something when I rob people. _He knew stealing was a terrible thing to do. Every time he swiped someone's wallet or broke into some rich person's mansion, there was a guilty twinge in his heart that hurt unbearably. But it was something he had to do.

_I burn down government buildings because I hate the government_. That was pretty straightforward. The government had torn so much from him that it would be odd not to feel at least a little hatred towards it.

But Jane had asked the fatal question.

"_Why did you become a criminal in the first place?"_

Roy couldn't answer that one, not for her. In fact, there was no person in this world he could think of to whom he'd be willing to reveal that secret. She had no right to know. He'd stood up to leave that cafe as soon as she had asked. Ignoring the look of surprise in her face, Roy had put down a few coins, and strode out, saying that he might be back tomorrow. Their little chat was over for the day. He had felt Krowehill's eyes drilling into his back as he exited. So what if she reported him? He'd just escape again, like he'd done so many times before.

For some reason, though, he felt like going back to the place tomorrow. Talking with a lady was very entertaining. Even if it was her fault that he seemed to be falling into depression again...

It was because of the memories she'd aroused in him. Of Riza, of Havoc, Falman, Fuery, Breda... _Don't think about them again..._ Roy told himself. _Not now. You've got a job to do_.

He walked briskly, his brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, hands in pockets, looking like any other man on a moody walk. All the while, he scanned the streets for an empty house. Roy felt his stomach growling - he'd skipped dinner, for he knew that he operated better on an empty stomach. It sharpened his senses - hadn't it been the same in the Ishbal war?

Roy finally spotted a large house with its lights off. Checking the empty street one last time, he vaulted over the low fence, and landed quietly on the soft grass of the other side. For good measure, Roy went around to the back of the house, making sure not to leave inprints of his shoes in the grass. Then, he placed his gloved hand on the wall, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

_Hope I don't need to do this shit again for a long time..._

He transmutated a hole in the wall, tall enough for him through walk through.

"Sorry," he murmured, and made his way into the deserted room.

* * *

Tom took a glance at Jane and the stranger, who were somehow engaged in a seemingly comfortable conversation. He shook his head. _That girl's a wonder... How the hell does she get so friendly with someone she's probably never seen before? I'd never have the guts. _As the thought about it again, Tom realized that it had been over a week since he'd first seen Jane and the guy talking together. Perhaps they weren't strangers any more. All for the better, thought Tom. He knew how Jane had a difficult time making friends because of her shy nature.

He grinned to himself, remembering how he'd first met the girl, and turned to look out the window - it was always nice to watch the fountain in the square outside.

Only today, it was obstructed by a large car. At first Tom was annoyed, but a closer look told him that it was a military van. There were obviously some police around, as well. Was something going on? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary... And why were they in front of his shop?

Tom went outside, failing to hear a shouted order from another customer, and called out,

"Hey!"

One of the authorities turned his way. Tom went up to him. "What's going on here?"

"Sir," the policeman said, "I'm afraid we must investigate your shop."

"Investigate? Why? Why my store?" Tom's eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

The pliceman, whose nameplate read 'Richards', turned to another one behind him. They shared a few words; Richards received a small clipboard from his comrade.

"In your shop, Mr...?" The Richards looked up.

"Matthews."

"Mr. Matthews, there's a convicted arsonist and robber in your shop. We've come to take him into custody."

"There's no criminal in my cafe, Officer." Tom said in a steely voice, unlike his usual, carefree self.

"I'm afraid there is. We've been watching this place since Tuesday, sir." Richards glanced at his clipboard again. "Did an Oriental man not enter?"

"...Oriental...?" Tom's brow furrowed. He immediately remembered the strange - he was about to answer when he remembered that Jane was with him right now. That was a convicted criminal? That smartly dressed man with a pleasant face and demanor? Tom didn't know what to think. And, he hadn't done anything terrible just yet - in fact, wasn't he still having coffee and dounuts with Jane?

Richards, obviously noticing Tom's hesitation, spoke to his partner. Tom was suddenly afraid. "Wait! I don't know - I was asleep - don't - there's people inside - " The words came out all jumbled. He was getting desperate.

"We're just getting him. We won't harm anyone else - if they don't get in the way." Richards ignored him.

_If they don't get in the way..._ "_Then why are taking all those guns?_"

"Roy Mustang is a highly dangerous criminal. We must immobilize him immediately."

"Stop!" As Tom tried to run forward, another policeman caught him around the shoulders and held him tight. "_Stop it! You're gonna kill someone!_"

* * *

**Sorry for the long gap between the update.... I had lots of stuff to do... So yeah. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

I'd like to give my thanks to **My-name-is-foxglove** and **Wolfborg007** for reviewing - you guys really keep me going!

As for your inquiries on Team Mustang... You'll have to wait and see. Muahahaha! Actually, I'm planning a flashback chapter or two to be posted soon - be patient!

Also you might want to re-check some of the older chapters, because I'm going to fix up some typos... Some major ones...

Now here's Chapter Four. Hope you enjoy.

**Chapter Four**

**_"I'm not going to let another young, innocent person die because of me." His voice was a low hiss. "Please... Listen to me..."_**

* * *

Roy wasn't quite sure why he was back in the cafe... but he was there, again, along with Jane Krowehill. Come to think of it, wasn't this about the fourth time he was eating with Krowehill? Him and women.

This place had good coffee, though. Roy had been living on the stuff for the past few weeks. Caffaine was useful. It helped him stay up for days on end. The cake... The cake was also tasty. Chocolate cake with ridiculously thick icing.

Oh, was that Jane talking to him? He'd been so immersed in the smooth sweetness of the cake that he hadn't even been listening. "... the military, right?"

"Huh? Pardon me?" Roy took a gulp of coffee, and wiped his mouth on the napkin.

"I said, you were in the military, right?" When had he told her that? Perhaps on their first meeting? Roy had forgot about that._ My stupid, stupid, big mouth..._

"Yeah." He hoped he could get out of this without revealing anything too much.

"To me, you look like a capable commander. If you've fought in the war, survived all that - and you'd climbed up to such a high position - I don't think you quit because you 'got tired of the job'." God, this lady was _bold_. How did she remember all that, anyways?

There wasn't much point in lying. "You're right, I suppose, but only by half. I really did get tired of it all. That shithole they call a military..."

"Did something happen?" Roy narrowed his eyes. He knew Jane worked at a newspaper; was she going to publish this little interview? As if noticing his sharp gaze on her, she said, "I promise I won't tell anyone. I swear."

"Fine." Roy put some more cake into his mouth, brow furrowing. He'd rather be burning in his own fire than be here, telling a near stranger of one of his most painful experiences. Ah, what the hell. He had nothing better to do for the moment, anyways... "Where to start..." He sighed. "We... Me and my subordinates... I... I was offered a mission. If I succeeded, I'd be promoted. Problem was, it was half impossible. We were supposed to go up to the north and capture some runaway criminals - big-time bank robbers. I was such a fool for accepting it..." _They'd just used us as bait_, he added to himself, _like useless lab mice. They didn't mean for us to survive... They wanted the stolen gold, nothing else. Bastards. _

"So what happened?"

"We failed." It was all that Roy could manage without letting his voice break. The memories came flooding back to him. The snow. The ice. The gunshots. The screams. And the blood... He shuddered, and his hands tightened into fists under the table. Desiring some warmth, Roy reached to take another draught from his coffee. It seared his throat as it went down, but the heat made him feel a little better.

Jane's tentative voice reminded him that he wasn't alone. "Mr. Mustang...?"

"I'm fine," Roy lied. "I'm fine." It sounded so fake and forced, even to his own ears. As he spoke, he clapsed his hands on the table. It was then Jane saw his right hand, which, on that accursed mission, had been victim to a very sharp knife. Roy remembered that very well - all too well. It had barely hurt, for the air had been so cold. The blade had sliced his small finger cleanly off. The hot blood that came from the wound had drenched his glove, making the alchemy useless... And all the while, his subordinates were struggling -

"Oh..." Krowehill breathed, her eyes wide at the sight of the scarred stump. It mirrored Roy's own shock at that time, seeing his maimed hand for the first time. Now, though, it was only another part of his new life. He'd discovered that a single missing finger wasn't as inconvinient as he'd imagined before. He could do everything he used to do - even his flame alchemy.

Roy's eyes travelled from Jane to the window. Instantly, every one of his senses were alert and sharp. Trouble had risen - he'd gotten company. He was able to immediately pick out the familiar blue uniforms of the soldiers of Amestris. They were policemen - and they were almost certainly after him. How they'd found him, he wouldn't know. But that wasn't important. Roy had to get out of here, now.

* * *

Just as Jane was getting accustomed to the sight of the hand, Mustang took out a glove and put it on. It had a sort of circle drawn on it, in black. She'd seen something like it somewhere - was it in a book? Probably. Realization dawned on Jane - it was an alchemic circle. Afraid, all of a sudden, she looked up to Roy's face, but his attention was elsewhere.

"Jane. I had a good time with you, but I'm afraid I have to leave." He said in a low voice. It was calm and firm, but also tinged with an urgency that hadn't been there before. Jane knew at once that something was wrong.

"But - you've only been here for fifteen minutes!" It was an attempt to figure out what was going on.

"I've got some people looking for me - and I don't want to be found." He nodded towards the windows. Were those police vans parked outside? Jane's heart began to beat faster. "They're here."

As he said so the front door burst open. Framed impressively in the doorway was a policeman with a large gun in his hand. Heads turned towards him; immediately the chatter of the cafe died away into a chilling silence. Jane found herself scanning the shop for Tom - where was he? Did something happen to him? He was nowhere in sight. It just added to the unpleasant coldness that had begun to clench at her stomach - pure, raw fear.

"Everyone! Out! Out! We're here to arrest a wanted man!" The policeman shouted. When no one moved, the man cursed, and fired the gun into the air, once. The loud gunshot was enough to raise a loud, hysterical panic - the diners began to scream; they pushed to get outside first. Even Jane felt her heart skip a beat. Mustang, however, didn't even flinch.

"Jane, get out of here." He said, his lips barely moving. The policeman was coming towards their table.

"You're Roy Mustang, aren't you?" The officer had his gun trained at Roy's chest. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "If you come quietly, no one will get hurt."

Jane was astonished to see Mustang smirk. "Your name's Richards? I'll have to remember that. You've seen my face."

"Put your hands up in the air, scumbag! Now!" The policeman bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. Then he saw Jane, who was still in her seat beside Roy. "And you, Miss! Please get out! I was ordered to shoot anyone who gets in the way - although I don't particularly want to hurt a pretty thing like you, this job'll land me in a big promotion. Out!"

Jane couldn't move. Half of her was frozen to her chair by fear, but the other half was burning with something that was rather something like determination. She didn't want this Roy Mustang to be taken away to be jailed - or executed, she thought with a shudder - he was a good person - almost a _friend_ -

"Jane. Go." There was a steely edge to Mustang's voice that made him sound more like the criminal he was supposed to be.

"No - " Without thinking she burst out of her chair.

It was then the policeman fired. Twice. Jane felt the first bullet fly over her head, miss her by inches - the second was headed straight for her. It was Roy, instead, who'd taken the hit. He'd lunged in front of her, using himself as her shield - Jane realized that she'd screamed as the blood exploded from his shirt, as he staggered into her. He'd gripped the table behind him with one hand; Jane's arm with the other.

"Why?" She trembled at the sight of all that crimson. "Why did you..."

"I'm not going to let another young, innocent person die because of me." His voice was a low hiss. "Please... Listen to me..." His eyes turned to the advancing policeman. Jane, breathing fast, struggled under his weight. "Never mind... It's a little too late for that now." Roy suddenly dropped to the floor, and Jane cried out again, thinking he'd passed out or died - but then she saw that he'd done it on purpose. He'd slammed his gloved hand to the floor. There was an odd crackling noise, along with some flashes of light - and suddenly, what seemed like a giant hand made of wood burst out of the floor and grabbed the policeman in is grasping fingers. The man screamed, and began to fire wildly, but all he hit was the floor and ceiling. Jane could hear more soldiers, probably reinforcements, charging in over the gunfire -

Mustang had took her by the shoulder. He was back on his feet, but he was pale, and Jane could see the large amount of blood on his clothes. "Under the table. Now, Jane," he said breathlessly.

"But - " Jane started to say.

"Now!" Mustang roared, finally having lost control. She had no choice but to obey. Jane dove for cover and wondered what was going to happen next.

She could see nothing from under the table except for everyone's legs. There were too many policemen... At least seven of them... There were shouts and more shots - Jane covered her ears - but soon the problem was the _heat_.

How had it happened? Was that really fire she was seeing? Like a protective wall, shielding them from the police and their bullets - where was Mustang? That overrode her terror of being burnt. Jane crawled out from under the table, calling his name.

Suddenly he was at her side. She opened her mouth to say something, but he shot her a look of warning. "You stay under there under the fire disappears - "

"_No _- "

"_Listen to me!_" Mustang paused for breath. "Please. My fire might kill you - stay here. I'll be long gone by the time you'll be able to come out. I don't want you to try and find me again. Alright? Promise me."

Jane knew that it wasn't good for her to hang out with a wanted man, no matter how friendly he was - she had a job, a good, normal life. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't want to get entangled with this Roy Mustang any further. Who knows? She could be arrested as an accomplice - heck, she didn't want to be jailed! If she did as she was told now...

"...Okay. I promise."

And then, despite the not-so-great situation, and the pain he must be in, Roy grinned. "Good girl. It was great talking to you." He straightened, turning back to the fire. "Get under there."

Jane dove for cover, just in time. A shattering _boom_ shook the shop; she'd probably screamed again, in fear of being disintergrated, but her voice was lost in the terrified shouts of the policemen, who were obivously all running for the doors at the sight of all those orange flames coming at them.

She didn't know how much time had passed before everything was quiet again. Jane opened her eyes, which had been squeezed shut, and removed her hands from her ears. "Mr. Mustang?" She whispered in to the silence, knowing that she would get no answer. He was gone, like he'd said he'd be.

Maybe it had been all her fault - if she hadn't existed, he wouldn't have come to this place every day - the police might have never found him, and none of this would have ever happened. Jane felt terrible. What if he'd been killed? He could've escaped a whole lot quicker if he hadn't had to save Jane's sorry neck. _It was all my fault. My fault_...

Jane never, ever shed tears, but now, she felt completely devastated. She began to sob.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks so much for reviewing! Sorry my updates take so long sometimes. I'm not such a consistent writer... And there are time problems...

To **ssadropout**: Yeah, thanks! That was my intent in the first place... I do like dashing Roy.  
To **Wolfbog007**: I told you I like to see characters suffer...  
To **My-name-is-foxglove**: Read on and see!

**Chapter Five**

**_"I'm sure he's all right." Havoc said from the back of the compartment. "It's the Colonel Mustang we're talking about, right?"_**

Around the time Roy Mustang had escaped from the cafe, a weary group of soldiers were boarding a train in a freezing station of the north. It was the closest place Olivier Armstrong had been able to find for them on such short notice.

Riza Hawkeye shivered and passed her hand through her hair. Her breath came out in white clouds of moisture in the freezing air. She wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible - there were too many horrible memories that came into her mind at the just the sight of snow. As she stepped onto the empty train she thought back to the cold cave she'd spent the past six months in, as a prisoner. This rickety old train was as good as heaven compared to that place... Definately.

"Finally, I can see fresh grass again! Grass and flowers!" Havoc sang, sounding like a child on his birthday. "Sunlight - and warmth - "

"You're embarressing us, Havoc. Shut up," Breda grumbled, hugging his coat closer too himself, teeth chattering.

"What're you talkin' about?" Havoc scoffed. "There's no one around here, except for the conductor and _him_." He nodded to the silent, lanky young man who had been ordered to escort them to the train - a boy of Olivier.

Riza barely heard any of this as she stepped onto the train and chose a window seat across from Breda. Havoc and Falman were carrying a stretcher that Fuery was lying in. The poor young man had succumbed to the cold and bad conditions - he'd heated up with a fever. Luckily they'd been rescued by Olivier Armstrong soon afterwards; Fuery would be fine if they returned to Central on schedule. Right now he was just asleep, according to Falman - he was no longer burning hot like a few days ago.

The car was completely empty. Understandable, for there were nearly no passengers on this particular line. After all, who would want to go to the northen areas, where there was nothing to see but snow and ice? Even soldiers were reluctant to come up here... that was where everything had started.

They'd known Colonel Roy Mustang to be an incredibly ambitious man, who'd stop at nothing to climb up the ranks of the military. He was the ideal commander for their purposes. 'They' were the higher-ranked men who were too lazy to do anything for themselves - which was why they'd chosen Roy to lead that mission to the north.

The objective had been simple. Roy was to capture a gang of criminals and bring them back to Central. They were big-time robbers who'd stolen incredible amounts of money and goods from the Amestris government. Oh, how deceptively easy it had seemed. Mustang, who had been promised a promotion if he succeeded, accepted, although he'd seemed reluctant. Riza knew that her commander was no fool. He'd been aware of the difficulties of the job he'd taken. It was snowy up there - although Roy had operated in plenty of other conditions, such as the harsh Ishbalan desert, snow and ice was something he wasn't so familiar with. That might mar his alchemy, as well as vision and hearing. The temperature... None of Roy's subordinates could admit that they'd ever been freezing cold before. Even Riza hadn't experienced anything below the mild winters of Central and the East.

Nevertheless, Roy had agreed to go. Riza, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery, too, had been prepared to push beyond their limits if it was for the promotion of their Colonel. They set off in relatively high spirits, convinced that the mission couldn't possibly be that difficult.

Things changed when they arrived at the designated point.

The weather was unearthly. In the north, it was always winter. On their first night camping out, temperatures dropped to thirty-five below zero, and the wind picked up. By the end of the week every single member of Mustang's team, including Roy himself, had experienced at least one case of mild frostbite. Nature showed them no mercy, kicking up blizzards and snowstorms every day, making their operation very nearly impossible.

However, a stroke of luck had led Mustang to the hideout of the criminals. He'd developed a careful plan of driving them out of their cave and ambushing them - however it required that not one member of the team made a single error.

It had been just too much...

Mustang's team had ended up as prisoners of those who they'd been assigned to capture; the Colonel himself had simply... vanished. No one had any idea where he might be; the robbers, obviously, had refused to tell them anything. They probably had no idea anyways..

"Do you think the Colonel's... well, Lieutenant?" Breda's quiet voice interrupted Riza's grim thoughts. "I mean... You know..."

"I don't know..." Riza answered truthfully. "But if he wasn't captured like the rest of us..."_ He'd either have escaped back to Central, or_...

"I'm sure he's all right." Havoc said from the back of the compartment. "It's _the_ Colonel Mustang we're talking about, right?"

"I hope so," Riza murmured, trying not to let her rather dark imagination run too wild.

She couldn't wait until she got back to Central. She hoped Roy was waiting for them there.

* * *

Tom Matthews stared in horror at his cafe. Huge flames were visible from outside the windows; the screams of policemen were clearly audible. He didn't really give a damn about the building or the stupid authorities. Jane. Jane Krowehill was still inside. He hadn't seen her with the rest of the customers that came rushing out a few minutes ago. What was going on? Did the man who was supposed to be Roy Mustang have her as a hostage? Or worse, could she possibly be working with the man?

Tom dismissed that idea as rubbish. It just wasn't logical. Jane was a smart young woman who had no reason to be with a criminal. Or so he told himself.

It was then the policemen came staggering out, gasping, choking, covered in soot. Tom recognized one as Richards, who seemed terrified and hysterical. The one that had been waiting outside with the vans came forward to help his comrades. "What happened? Did we get him?" He demanded to Richards.

"The bastard uses _magic_, goddammit - he set the place on fire! He made the floor come alive! I couldn't see anything - think I managed to shoot him, though - he was using fire as a shield - _controlling it_ - "

"Don't be ridiculous. You must've been imagining things."

"No!" Richards choked. "He was! He was - fire came out of nowhere!"

The other officer turned back to a man with a clipboard behind him. "I'll take that as a failure... Damn it. We've lost him again. I assume Mustang's attempted to commit suicide." He remarked, rubbing his chin. "Or he's just plain bonkers."

"But Jane - Jane's inside - " Tom tried to go forward, but some more men restrained him.

"Please, sir, don't intrude on the scene of crime. And the fire's still there."

"We have to get her out - "

"I'm very sorry, sir, but there's no way - "

"Goddamn you bastards!" Tom snapped. He felt the rage boiling up inside him like molten lava. "You _fucking_ bastards!"

They made no attempt to rescue the cafe or Jane. They'd called the fire department, but obviously the bad traffic was preventing them from coming. Tom had never felt such anger before, just watching his beloved store burn, with Jane inside... It felt like hours and hours...

In fact, it had been burning for a long time. But oddly enough, there didn't seem to be any signs of the fire spreading or the building collapsing - as if the flames were just staying in one spot. How was that possible? The police began to murmur amongst themselves, showing signs of doubt and unease. It was about another fifteen minutes later when the fire, suddenly, impossibly, vanished.

Everyone stared in amazement for a moment at the now-silent shot. Tom saw that the inside was scorched and black, but it was _decidedly undamaged_. Before the police could stop him, he ran forward and inside.

A rather odd sight greeted him. Half the cafe was sooty and dark; the other half was... perfectly unharmed and clean. The line between the two was clear and straight. As if a wall had been there. And under the table in the corner was -

"Jane!" Tom ran to Jane, who was crouched in a tight ball between the table legs. It was really her. Safe, uninjured, alive.

"Tom?" She looked up, and burst into fresh tears. "Oh, God - I thought I'd die - I was so afraid - "

"What happened?" Tom helped her up. "Are you all right?"

Some shouts came from behind. "She's alive! The lady's fine!" The policemen. Tom wanted to hit them again.

"How... The place was burning, wasn't it?"

"No... He made a wall with the fire..." Krowehill whispered - suddenly her eyes widened. "Mr. Mustang - where is he? Is he alive?"

"We don't know, Miss," an officer said. "He's escaped again, but he might be bleeding to death in the streets right now - we'll be giving chase - "

Jane turned even paler than she already was. She looked down; so did Tom. There were some considerable stains on the floor of what looked a lot like blood.

"Oh, God..."

* * *

Roy lay as still as he could in his bed, eyes closed, once again thinking of his failed mission that had also been his final one. He didn't remember much from it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd tried so hard to forget everything to do with it. But if there were a few things he couldn't drive away from his memory. The shouts of his subordinates, asking for help, for orders, for _anything_. The white snow, stained with crimson drops. The biting, brutal cold - and lastly, the sensation of falling. Probably, if he hadn't been knocked off his feet and straight off a cliff by that stupid robber, he wouldn't have been seperated from his squad, and he could've helped them, or at least, died with them. Instead, he'd just broken a few bones, his fall cushioned by the thick snow, and some time later, he was discovered by some locals, who soon reported him to the military, seeing his uniform. The next thing he knew - he was in a hospital in Central, his subordinates pronounced missing and their mission failed. He'd gone begging for a search for his squad as soon as he'd recovered; a Major General had halfheartedly agreed. The search party returned only a week later, claiming that Roy's subordinates could not be found.

They were deemed dead a day afterwards.

Roy, trembling with anger and sorrow, had only seen their funeral from a distance. Five of them. He'd lost all five of them. Riza, Fuery, Havoc, Falman and Breda. All five of them. They'd work so hard for him. They'd trusted him with their lives. Roy had been determined to repay them all with a new Amestris. Instead, he'd accepted an impossible mission for his own selfish needs, and gotten them killed like worthless vermin.

And the military. Roy knew that they'd barely bothered to search for his subordinates. After all, five soldiers didn't make much difference, did they? That's what they thought. Roy knew that his team was probably far more intelligent and courageous than that circle of generals. He also knew he was next to helpless without their help in his work. The new squad he'd been given was _pathetic_. Drunken young men who hadn't seen a single battle, and didn't seem to intend to. They infuriated Roy beyond reasoning.

This, combined with everything else - the rage, grief, the hopelessness - had been enough to make Roy quit. He abandoned his rank - it hadn't been so hard when he had nothing left - and began his dark vandetta by burning down a crucial warehouse that kept guns and bombs. The destruction had been immense. He'd immediately landed himself on the 'wanted' list. He didn't care.

Roy opened his eyes and stared at the peeling ceiling. He shifted under his covers, and winced, as his side gave a painful twinge. The bullet hadn't hit anything vital, fortunately, but it still hurt like the devil. Somehow Roy had managed to raid a pharmacy for medicine and bandages before he'd weakened further; he'd extracted the slug himself, using whiskey as both painkiller and disinfectant. Treating his own injuries became a second nature. Scratches, sprained limbs, cracked bones... Roy had done it all before. Still, he'd nearly passed out as he probed around with the tweezers and scalpel. It hadn't exactly been neat, either, and now Roy had to figure out an explanation for the blood-soaked towels that had been used in his little operation. Ah, well. He doubted the owner would care.

But the man _would_ care about this week's rent. Roy was out of money; most of it had gone to food and clothes. Of course, he'd go out to find himself some more, if it weren't for the fact that he was burning with a fever, faint from exhaustion and blood loss. He wondered what to do, near desperate. If he didn't pay, he'd be thrown out - that wouldn't do much good for his current state. Where would he get the money? He could barely walk without feeling the urge to vomit... Perhaps if he had enough medicine, Roy could improve his condition for a little while - long enough to pick a few pockets?

Seeing no other option, he settled on this plan. Roy decided that he'd wait until at least his fever went down. Another day's rest would be sufficient, he hoped.

God, he hated this life.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, I know, really long gap between my last update. I'm so sorry. I just moved into boarding school and I don't think I'm gonna have any more time than I used to, so expect reaaaalllly slow updates. I'd like to finish this, though. I'll give it my best.

Thanks for reviewing, **Illuminating-Darkness, My-name-is-foxglove, Wolfborg007, ssadropout**. You guys are seriously the best.

I finally got this done. I hope it's good enough to read.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**_"He took his career in a different direction. He now seems to think it's amusing to ridicule the military he used to serve."_**

"For God's sake, Jane, will you let go of the paper for _just a minute?"_

Jane was jerked back into reality when she heard Tom's raised voice. Blinking, for her eyes hurt from reading the tiny print for so long, she looked up at Tom, who was leaning on the counter opposite of her.

"I know you work at the company and all, but can you at least listen when I talk?"

Krowehill scowled. "That's not it! It's just that..."

"What, something interesting in the news nowadays?" Tom shrugged. "I don't bother reading it... What I've been hearing from my customers is quite enough."

"You're _eavesdropping_?"

"No! I'm not allowed to have a little conversation?"

Jane rolled her eyes and put the newspaper down on the counter. Tom craned his neck forward to see it.

"Roy Mustang? The criminal?" He inquired, taking a draught from a mug of coffee. "He's the one that coated my place with soot, ain't he?"

"Don't act as if you don't know, Tom." Krowehill tried not to sound too harsh, but the Mustang incident was something she could never forget. "He's still on the run, apparently..." She said in a soft voice.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Why the heck're you so interested in the guy, anyways? You don't seem to talk about anything else. I thought you said that you had no connection to him. Isn't that what you told the police?" His eyes narrowed. "You didn't _lie _to them, did you?"

"I... well..." Jane blushed a deep red. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Are you kidding, Jane? Lying to the police? That's bold. But why'd you do that? And just what were you doing with a wanted man, anyway? You said you didn't know who he was before they came..."

"... I lied..."

"Ah."

"He told me who he was - "

"- but you didn't turn him in?"

"No."

"Why not? You could get into trouble for something that..."

"He seemed like a good person. I didn't want him to get caught." Jane looked down at the paper. A long article speculating Mustang's current location and next move took up the entire front page. Tom stared at it also.

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so naive, Jane. Someday you'll get into _really_ big trouble."

Jane shrugged and frowned. She tried not to show the anxiety she was feeling inside. She wondered where Mustang was. What was he doing right now? The paper didn't know anything. No one knew anything. Jane hated being kept in the dark. But this Mustang was as elusive as a fox. He'd just vanished, just like how he'd shown up out of nowhere, and changed the way Jane saw the world forever.

* * *

They'd gone to the hospital a few hours ago, for health checks and for Fuery. Everyone had been lacking proper food for a long time; the doctors ordered them to not overwork themselves for a while and eat good meals. Luckily none of them had any severe frostbite, or anything of the sort; Fuery, the doctors said, would be perfectly fine with a few days' good rest. Falman agreed to stay with Fuery so that Riza and the others could go make their report to a higher-ranked officer.

Riza, Havoc and Breda stood in stiff salute, facing the fat general, called Eglinton, who, for some reason, looked absolutely pale.

Riza felt a strange forboding in her. "Sir? This is Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye reporting." She hesitated. "We were a part of Colonel Roy Mustang's squad. We have been held captive for the past six months in the north; all of us are alive and well save Kain Fuery, who has a fever and is in the military hospital -"

"You - you're not dead." The general stuttered. "You're supposed to be dead. All of you."

Riza froze, her hand still at her brow. Havoc and Breda - their mouthes were hanging open. "U-us? We're fine, sir, see?" Havoc said lamely into the silence.

Eglinton put his hand over his face. "They told us that there was no trace of you five. We even had your funerals, damn it!"

Riza's heart was beating fast. "Sir. What about Colonel Mustang? Did he return? Is he all right?"

The general stared at her, looking decidedly even more panicked than before. "God. You don't know?" His voice was husky.

"No, sir." Riza swallowed. "We just got back from the north... What... what exactly are you talking about, General?"

Breda spoke, hesitantly, fearfully. "Is... is he dead?"

The general paused, as if debating on whether to answer or not. In the end, he said, "No."

Riza breathed out in a deep sigh. Breda and Havoc already had happy grins spreading across their faces. For a moment they forgot the fact that they'd all been thought dead for the past six months.

"He... he also quit the military."

Their brief relief evaporated.

"Pardon me, sir?" Riza could have laughed, for the notion of Roy abandoning his beloved military was so impossible, so ridiculous. Breda and Havoc had their smiles half-frozen to their faces. Riza looked desperately at Eglinton, hoping that he was just joking.

"I'm afraid so. He... took his... career in a different direction." The general was rummaging around in his desk. He pulled something out - a newspaper - and handed it to Riza. "He now seems to think it's amusing to ridicule the military he used to serve."

Not really wanting to see, Riza accepted the paper with a shaking hand. It was dated March - it was around the time they'd been taken prisoner in their mission. Dread clutching at her gut, she scanned the front page.

The headline seemed to scream at her. "_Former Soldier Turned Criminal: Colonel Roy Mustang_". Riza barely took in what she read. It chronicled all that was known on Colonel Mustang, who, after the spectacular failure of a mission, returned alone and injured; as soon as he recovered he'd torched an entire row of warehouses... The general was saying something to her. His words flowed past Riza's ears like running water. She could barely breathe.

This wasn't true. It couldn't be. It wasn't.

"Lieutenant...?" Havoc asked tentatively. Riza managed to shake her head and hand the newspaper to him. Leaving him and Breda to discover its horrors, she turned back to the general, who was massaging his temples.

"Sir..." Her voice came out very hoarse. "How... Why..."

He looked at her. Then, infuriatingly, he just _shrugged_. "I don't know. No one does. The failure was too much for him to take, probably. I can't think of any other reason." Complete indifference was obvious in his face.

A sudden anger flared inside Riza at that. Failure? No. That wasn't it. Roy was no fool, and knew that he couldn't succeed in everything he attempted - he knew his limits. He was aware that he was a human being. The mission alone couldn't have driven Roy to abandon his post in the military; Riza was sure of it. Something... something more terrible, more shocking, must have happened, she told herself. It isn't like Roy to make such a drastic move; the military was his life. He wouldn't quit unless he had a very good reason to.

Riza was forgetting that everyone, _everyone_ had thought she was dead, along with her four comrades.

"There must've been some sort of mistake." Havoc said, his eyes hard, unlike his usual self. His voice rose into a shout. "This is all a big _fucking_ mistake!"

"Havoc, shut up!" Breda hissed, but Eglinton just sighed.

"I didn't know Mustang had such insolent men under his command. Perhaps it's not so surprising - he wasn't such a... polite officer himself." Riza glared at Havoc, making him supress his choked cry of anger. It didn't mean she was feeling so content herself. "I'll have to place you five under Lieutenant Colonel Jones - he happens to need a new squad."

"A new commanding officer?" Breda was about to protest. "But - sir - "

The general looked at them. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir." Riza said quickly, and saluted. Havoc and Breda followed suit, but Riza could easily see that they were both glowering. As they exited the room, Havoc took out a cigarette and lit it, clamping it down tightly between his teeth. It wouldn't have been odd at all if the smoke was wafting up from his ears.

"The _bastard_. He didn't give a damn about the Colonel, did he?" Havoc growled, turning to burn holes in the closed door behind him with his eyes. "Not a polite officer? He should speak for himself!"

Breda was agreeing with him, but Riza's mind was elsewhere. The Colonel... was gone? From the military? She still couldn't decided whether it was true or not. Sure, there was the newspaper, but papers often got facts wrong... And she hadn't known the higher-ranked officers to be such... honest people. Riza desperately wanted to convince herself that everything was a misunderstanding. It wasn't working very well.

Deep in thought, she walked straight into Havoc and Breda, who had both stopped in their tracks. "What is it?" She snapped. "I'm not in the mood for your joking around." They were in the front foyer of the building, where there were several bulletin boards for posting various posters and notes for the soldiers. They'd stopped right in front of the largest one. "What is it?" Riza asked again when there was no reply from neither Havoc or Breda.

Havoc was pointing with a shaking finger at a piece of paper that had been stuck up with tape. Riza looked.

It was a 'wanted' poster. There was no photograph. Riza saw the name at the top clearly, far too clearly. '**_Roy Mustang'_**. Feeling herself tremble, she forced herself to read on. _Wanted for arson, damage of government property and theft. Medium height and build, dark hair and eyes. Can be identified by a missing finger on the right hand. Details unknown. If found contact officials immediately. Reward - 100,000 cenz_. 100,000 cenz... That was a lot of money. And what was that about the hand? Riza's mind was reeling. Arson... damage of property... theft... No. Just... no.

"What the hell's Colonel Mustang been up to, anyways?" Breda murmured to no one in particular.

No one could answer him.

* * *

Roy stared at himself in the mirror. He sighed, for he'd definately gotten thinner over the last few days. Which was obvious - he hadn't eaten a single proper meal since the cafe incident, because he couldn't go out, and his stomach didn't seem to be able to take much, either. He felt weak from lack of food - he decided to go for a meal and a good drink. His wound had scabbed over enough for him to move around. Picking up his coat, hat, and pack, he went down the stairs and checked out of he inn. Using the long hours of resting in bed, he'd thought everything over. He wouldn't pay the rent. He wouldn't return.

It was a warm autumn night. There were many wealthy-looking people walking around, obviously going for an expensive dinner or something of the sort. Roy kept that in mind. Maybe he'd swipe a few purses and wallets. He knew he only had enough cash left for two more decent meals at the most. His injury had cost him deeply.

He found a restaurant that didn't seem too pricey. He ordered a steak and salad. Mechanically, he ate, feeling the food nourish him, not caring much for the texture or taste of the tough and overcooked meat. Roy had learned a long time ago that food for a soldier was nothing but an energizer. Eat what is given to you. Eat whenever you can. Mealtimes were no longer anything of enjoyment to Roy. It was more like a short period of quiet time to think, brood and plan. He was still hungry after he paid the bill, but no longer felt as if his head was swimming in the clouds. That was good enough for now.

And then his now-natural urge to steal something came rushing back to him. Roy told himself he was in no condition to do so and supressed the desire to pickpocket. But when he saw a fat, snobbish lady carrying an equally plump purse, casting scornful looks at some shabbily-dressed boys sitting on the curb, Roy could no longer resist. He had to steal from her. Teach her a lesson. Teach her that she might not be as lucky as she might think she is right now.

He pulled off his ordinary white gloves, and drew out his alchemic ones. As he liked to think of them, 'work gloves'.

Roy Mustang was rising again.

* * *

**TBC - reviews make it happen...**


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the slow update, once again! Thanks for reviewing, everyone, I'm glad there's people enjoying my fic! Please do read on!

**Chapter Seven**

**_ This was all just a bad dream. It had to be._**

Around that time, Riza and her comrades were stuffed in a military van, headed for the east. She sighed, and turned to look out the window, her chin propped up on her hand. She tried to ignore Breda's elbow digging into her ribs. It didn't make much difference, anyway... Riza was so tired, and she was constantly thinking about the Colonel. For some reason, although it should have been the opposite, life without Roy was so... draining. Riza firmly believed that he was alive. She would have felt it if he wasn't. Or was that just another thing she was trying to tell herself?

Lieutenant Colonel Jones made Riza ache for Mustang even more. It was the same foir Breda, Havoc and Falman. Jones was a young man, no more than thirty, just like Roy. Only, he couldn't have been more different. He was, simply put, a lazy bastard. Jones ordered around his new subordinates like dogs, forcing them to tend to his every whim, while he did nothing but drink, gamble, and nap. He had no concern for his men or his country. Riza could tell that this was someone who'd bought his way up the ranks - he had no skill at all. He was a gullible fool. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Riza was glad her little scheme to get to East City had worked. It was where Roy Mustang was last seen, in a cafe. Riza had convinced Jones that by catching Mustang, he'd be able to earn himself a huge promotion - and the reward money. At first he was supicious of the notion of having his new subordinate hunt for the man she had worked for previously. He knew how loyal she had been to her Colonel. But in the end, the thought of the huge sum of money waiting to be claimed overrode his common sense. The idiot. Mustang was so much more intelligent... Riza glared behind her, where Jones was riding in his cosey private car.

"Get your foot off of mine. Please." Havoc, not in a good mood, growled to Falman.

"I can't. I'm as stuck as you are."

"Goddamn _shit_." Came the reply. "At least Colonel Mustang let us ride in two cars instead of one... This is ridiculous."

Which was true. But it made Riza angry. She didn't want to be continuously reminded of Roy. "Watch your language, Second Lieutenant. And didn't Lieutenant Colonel Jones tell you that Roy Mustang is no longer a Colonel and your commanding officer?" Her voice and words were sharp. Havoc and the others fell silent.

It was ironic. Riza was telling them something she herself didn't believe. She felt like a total fool.

"Lieutenant..." It was Breda speaking this time.

"What?" She tried not to show what she was thinking.

Breda said softly, unlike his usual self, "you don't mean that, do you?"

Riza's eyes were downcast. At last, she replied, lifting her gaze to meet his, "You know we'll always be the subordinates of Colonel Mustang - not of that imbecile Jones."

He grinned widely. "Now you're talking, Lieutenant."

* * *

They began their long, tiring search for Mustang without informing Jones where they were beginning. Riza went with Havoc; Breda with Falman. Riza, in her place as temporary commander, couldn't help but wish Fuery was well enough to help with their operation. Some radios would have been useful. Unfortunately the doctors had kept him from coming with them. Riza had never seen Fuery in such a black mood.

Riza and Havoc had no luck so far. At the cafe where Mustang had supposedly made his appearence, they'd questioned the owner of the shop. What he knew was disappointing. But he gave them a crucial piece of information - a customer of his, a young woman called Jane Krowehill, had seen, no _talked_, to Roy. When Riza and Havoc visited her apartment, she wasn't home. Krowehill's neighbour, a kindly old lady, told them that she was at work. She couldn't tell them where.

With no other choice, they'd looked through every single street and alley they went past, interviewing passerbyers every once in a while. No one had seen any person that looked even moderately Xingese. Riza figured Roy was staying low, for she knew not many people looked like him, at least not in this country. He'd stand out if he walked around among blonde and brown-headed people during broad daylight. His black hair would be like a homing beacon. It was another thing Riza missed seeing...

It had gotten dark already. Havoc said that he was hungry; Riza had to admit she was too. Reluctantly she agreed to go for a meal at Havoc's favourite Italian restaurant. Just as they were about to go into the shop, Riza heard the high-pitched scream of a woman.

"Thief! He took my purse!"

Riza's head turned at the noise. Her sense of justice took over her. She absolutely despised thieves - scumbags who stole from others instead of working hard to earn for themselves. She wasn't going to let this one get away. Grabbing Havoc's arm, despite his muffled protest, she ran towards the commotion. It ended up that she didn't have to. The criminal was heading their way. Riza's well-trained eyes spotted the figure, cleverly clad in dark clothes and a brimmed hat, running for his life in the shadows cast by buildings. Obviously he was going to use the nearby alley as an escape route. It seemed as though he was planning to just push Riza and Havoc out of the way. Probably they looked like any other content couple out for a walk on this fine evening. _We'll see about that, you bastard_, thought Riza. At the last possible moment, to avoid any chance of him bolting the other way, she whipped out her pistol, and fired.

The gunshot shattered the peaceful evening. People screamed. Riza had gone for the legs, and as always, her aim was true. By the light of the streetlamps, Riza saw blood fly through the air. She was surprised to see the man stumble but not fall. He hadn't even made a sound. Instead, he pivoted on his good leg, turning to face Riza and Havoc. And then, he put his hand to the ground - it was gloved - but it wasn't for support, as Riza immediately assumed. To her shock and astonishment, there was a loud crackling, and suddenly, the cobbled stones at her feet came exploding up, sending dust and stinging pebbles flying everywhere. As Riza leapt for safety, hearing Havoc yell, one thought made its way into her head.

_Alchemy?_

The man was about to run again. _Oh, no, you don't_. Riza rolled towards him and came up on a knee, her gun steady. She had it trained right at his face. It was then she realized he was aiming for her, as well. It wasn't with a firearm but with... a gloved hand. It was the opposite of the one he'd used earlier, the left side. Riza recognized the position of the fingers and the red transmutation circle drawn on the back of the hand. It was a hand that was preparing to snap. Cold dread began to clench at Riza's stomach. She'd known that jawline under the shadow cast by the hat had looked familiar. She'd known...

Riza fired the gun, blowing the hat right off the man's head.

She found herself staring into the dark eyes of Roy Mustang - they looked equally horrified as her own brown ones.

Before either of them could make a move, Riza heard Havoc shout. Roy's head snapped around, just as Havoc's fist came flying and smashed into the side of his face. Riza cried out, but it was too late - a split second later, Roy was lying on the ground before her, out cold, a bruise presumably already forming on his face. Havoc, she knew, was a strong man.

"Did I get him?" He panted, rubbing his knuckles. "I did hit him pretty hard. But what was that all about? Alchemy?"

"Of course he uses alchemy," Riza whispered, although she could find no explanation for his obvious use of destructive alchemy. "it's Colonel Mustang."

"What?" Havoc's eyes widened. He bent down to peer at Roy's unconscious form. An exclamation of surprise escaped his mouth a moment later. He turned to Riza, visibly amazed. "I-I just punched the Colonel?" He looked at his hands. "He's gonna _kill_ me."

It was the last thing Riza was thinking about. Her mind was reeling. So was everything she had heard so far true? Why else would Roy be _pickpocketing_? She opened up Roy's coat; inside, as she'd suspected, was a woman's purse. No. Feverishly, remembering what was written on the wanted poster, Riza reached for Roy's right hand. It was covered in the familiar alchemic glove. She peeled it off, and saw that indeed, the hand had only four fingers.

Horror made her throat close over. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. So this Roy was the same as the one in the posters. Riza had hoped that some genius criminal had been posing as Roy Mustang, using the name to have him hunted... But now that she thought about it, wasn't that a pointless thing to do? Who would want Roy to be falsely marked as a thief and arsonist? Why would anyone go through all that trouble? As far as Riza knew Roy didn't have such enemies. It didn't make sense. And where had Roy lost that finger? Riza felt sick. She saw that the scarring was bad, which meant he hadn't gotten proper care from a hospital until it had healed completely... Her thoughts began to wander hopelessly, continuing to do so until she managed to get ahold of herself.

The conclusion was that it was really him.

"So what now, Lieutenant?" Havoc said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder, obviously sensing her shaking.

She really didn't know how to answer him.

* * *

This was all just a bad dream. It had to be.

Or so Roy was telling himself when he found himself in a soft bed. He hadn't slept in such a comfortable bed in months. Which made him wonder where he was. A hotel? No. He'd just signed out of one. His apartment? No! He'd vowed never to return, for it was a surefire way to get the police on his tail again. He found that his head was hurting. He couldn't think clearly. He didn't feel all that well. Roy managed to lift his upper body from the mattress, and took a glance around the room, looking for potential dangers. He found none. It was then he saw the bedside table. There were several things on it - the first thing Roy noticed was his dark coat, obviously cleaned, ironed, and neatly folded up. A dull fear began to rise in his chest. And then, beside it were his alchemic gloves, also nicely placed on the wooden surface. Then, lastly, there was a photograph in a frame. His heart thumping, Mustang leaned towards it to see it better. He uttered a soft gasp. It was a photo of his squad, his old squad. He was standing in the middle, with Riza by his side; Breda, Havoc, Fuery and Falman, as well as Black Hayate, were also in the photo.

It was then he noticed Black Hayate, the real Black Hayate, smiling up at him from the floor. The dog gave a short yap.

It took everything for Roy to hold back a scream. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, snatched his coat and gloves from the table, and made a lunge for the door. There was a searing pain in his left leg; it almost gave way, but panic and desperation fueled him. For a moment Mustang fumbled with the doorknob; finally he got the thing open and he stumbled out into a hallway, a terribly familiar hallway. He knew it because he'd been here before. He knew it because it was Riza Hawkeye's house.

At once memories from his most recent and failed theft came rushing back to him. He remembered making a run for it with the purse, then getting shot at by a perfectly ordinary looking woman, a blonde woman... Seeing the woman's face... Her seeing his face... A man, presumably Havoc, by the sound of his voice, punching him in the face... Darkness...

What the hell was this? What the _hell_ was this?

Mustang limped through the hall, teeth clenched from pain, sweat streaming down his face and neck, blood roaring in his ears. He was barely watching where he was going. Stupid of him. He hadn't gone far when he crashed into someone, bringing both of them down to the floor. He could only manage a strangled yell. There was also a cry of a woman.

When Roy blinked and untangled himself from the other person, he truly felt like fainting.

_Riza. Riza Hawkeye._

**TBC! Reviews, anyone?**

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Yeah, I know, this took a really long time. I'm sorry. School and homework… Also this wasn't the easiest chapter to write. I couldn't figure out how Roy, Riza and Havoc should interact. So it's the best I could come up with. Hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to **StormAlchemist677**, **Her Royal Shortness**, and **hello9245** for reviewing. I seriously write for your wonderful comments.

**Chapter Eight**

**_She desperately wanted him back by her side once again. She'd do anything to have it that way._**

The next thing she knew, Roy was screaming. At first Riza could barely make out his words, for they came so fast and loud. But soon they made themselves clear to her.

"You're not supposed to be here! You're dead! Why are you here?_ They told me you were fucking dead_!" Riza had never seen him so uncontrolled before. He was supposed to be the calm one, the one who thought things through, keep cool-headed at all times. Right now, his eyes were wild, body shaking like a leaf in the wind. He'd scrambled up to his feet, despite the bloodstain spreading over his pant leg. He looked as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Colonel - it's just me - please, calm down, sir - "

"Shut up! _Get away from me_!" Roy shrieked, backing away further. His bad leg gave way and he stumbled backwards, into the wall. He just sat there, chest heaving, not taking his eyes off of Riza. She was, to tell the truth, terrified. She was finally beginning to understand everything. The pieces of the puzzle were falling in place. Why hadn't she thought about it before? How could she have been so blind and stupid?

The Colonel had thought her dead, just like the rest of the world.

It was then Riza saw Havoc's head stick through the door frame. He was back from the hospital, visiting Fuery. "Lieutenant? What's going on?" His mouth fell open when he saw Mustang on the floor and Riza standing in front of him. "Colonel...?"

Roy had gone frighteningly silent. His eyes travelled from Riza to Havoc and then back to Riza again. Then, slowly, as if he'd come to a large decision, he pulled out what Riza recognized as his alchemic glove, and slipped it on. He began to raise his hand. Ready to snap.

Riza's heart was in her mouth. Havoc was shouting something, but she couldn't hear. "Colonel! Please, don't! It's us, Colonel Mustang! We're alive! We're here! Let us talk to you!" Roy was shaking his head, his fingers trembling. They rubbed against themselves so hard that a spark leapt through the air. Riza knew she and Havoc could be cooked in any second now.

"Lieutenant - what do we do?" Havoc was saying desperately, frozen in his spot by the door. "Colonel - "

"Don't call me that," Roy said hoarsely. "Don't... don't call me that."

Riza's fists clenched. "Get a grip on yourself, Colonel Mustang!" Abruptly, without thinking, Riza strolled forward until she was in front of Roy - then bent down and struck him in the face. The slap resounded rang through the now-silent hall. She didn't even give Roy a chance to conjure up any fire. Havoc staring at her, openmouthed, with something like awe on his face - or was it more like admiration? Roy was looking startled, but somehow less crazed. "Colonel... It's me."

Roy's voice was no more than a whisper. His eyes had softened at last, even if it was only for a moment. "Lieutenant...?"

Riza choked back a sob. She fell to her knees, and pulled Roy into a tight embrace. The tears began to overflow, but she didn't bother hiding them - it was everything she'd been holding back since she'd first learned of Roy's disappearance.

She could have sworn she felt his arms around her, as well.

* * *

Riza agreed to have Havoc over for dinner. He said that he wanted to eat with Mustang again. It was something they hadn't been able to do for such a long time.

Riza kept a cautious silence as Roy warily sat down and began to shove massive forkfuls of leftovers into his mouth. Havoc kept casting furtive glances at him, but he kept his mouth closed. When had he last eaten? Riza wondered. He was like a wolf tearing into a fresh kill. Back when he was still in the military he would never eat like that. It had been only six months since Riza had last seen him, but he'd changed. He was noticeably thinner. There was a black bruise on the side of his face where Havoc had punched him. His black hair was longer and unkempt, as if they'd been hastily cut by a pair of scissors, and they still hung over his eyes. But it was his eyes that were most different. They were still as dark as the night, but they no longer had that youthful sparkle to them - instead they looked so weary, dull with fatigue...

Riza noticed that the hand that held the fork had only a scarred stump for the small finger. Her gut twisted every time she saw it. Roy, however, seemed completely comfortable with the inconvenience. It certainly didn't restrict him eating his supper. It showed Riza just how much he'd changed while she was gone.

He hadn't said anything after asking for a meal. Riza could tell he didn't want to speak about anything. He was working his way through his third serving of fish and rice when Riza felt she could no longer stand the silence. Unable to think of anything better to say, Riza spoke. "Colonel. We have a lot to ask you."

He spooned more rice into his mouth before replying simply, "It's a long story."

"We have lots of time." Havoc piped up. "We want to hear it." He looked determined and ready. To tell the truth, Riza wasn't really sure about herself. Did she want to know all the things Roy had done during her absence. What crimes had he committed? What terrible things could he have done? Worst of all, just how much pain had he endured?

Roy put his fork and knife down. He looked at Riza and Havoc in turn, his eyes scrutinizing their faces. Riza tried to appear braver than she felt. His gaze lingered on her for what seemed like an eternity.

He started from the beginning, and told them both everything. Almost.

The warm shower had felt so good. The soft bed was also heavenly, and hunger was no longer gnawing at his stomach. But still, Roy couldn't sleep. His mind wasn't quite at peace, like his body was, save for his throbbing leg, which Riza had redressed nicely before bidding him goodnight.

Roy let his eyes close. _Maybe if I go to sleep, I'll wake up to find that this is all a damned dream… Maybe Riza's not really here, alive… She's dead… So is Havoc, Falman, Breda and Fuery… This isn't real… It's a cruel dream…_

_Who're you kidding? Fool._

He knew this was truly happening. He opened his eyes again.

What was it that he wanted, anyway? How many times had he wished that he had his subordinates back with him? How many times? He'd lost count. All those moments of exhaustion, of being alone, of being in the dark, with no one to turn to, with no one to support him – it was what he'd been living in for the past months. Roy had constantly missed his subordinates so badly.

It had come true. His wish had come true. And now his world was about to collapse for a second time.

Roy had never expected this to happen. It was a possibility he'd never thought about. Now that he asked himself again, why hadn't he? Why did he believe those stupid generals and their mediocre search teams? Roy cursed himself for not thinking, analyzing and deducting like he always did at that time. Only if he'd known that his squad wasn't completely eliminated. Only if he hadn't done so many rash things. Only if…

He climbed off the bed, stood and leaned against the wall. He looked at Black Hayate, asleep on the floor. The dog had immediately made it his job to tail Mustang wherever he went. As if he wanted to protect him. Maybe Riza commanded him do to so. It seemed likely. Roy had to grin. Riza hadn't changed one bit. Neither had Havoc, judging by the cigarette still having its permanent spot between his teeth. Roy wondered what Fuery, Breda and Falman were doing right now. Probably Riza had called them, telling them of his return.

What was he going to do now? Roy had no idea. There was no way he'd be able to get back into the military. It wasn't going to be possible. He couldn't go back to his old criminal ways, either, not with all his subordinates watching… What was he to do?

What had been the point of his entire past six months, anyways?

He'd done everything to milk revenge from the military. Revenge for what? His beloved squad was alive and well. Roy had blamed himself and his commanders for their 'deaths'; he'd done his best to punish himself. He hadn't regretted it before, for he firmly believed that he'd deserved it. What about now? Why had he made himself go through all that? Why had he thrown away his life's goals and dreams? All for a lie. He'd done all this for a lie.

Roy sank down to a sitting position. He covered his face with one hand for a moment, the one without a finger. He took it off and stared at it for a moment. Remembered what it felt like, losing it. Remembered everything he'd been through. A mad grin began pulling at the corners of his mouth. _Riza… Riza isn't dead. None of them are dead. Even the damned dog's here. Everyone… Everyone is fine_.

His shoulders shook. He burst out laughing.

This was almost comical. He laughed until he had to gasp for breath.

From a few feet away, he heard the dog whine.

"It's hilarious, isn't it, Black Hayate." Roy chuckled. "It's so damn hilarious, this thing called life." He leaned his back against the wall and looked out the window – stars were sparkling in the dark sky, as if to mock him. He gave another humorless smirk. "What an ugly world."

As if to agree with him, Hayate padded over and lay down next to him, nuzzling at Roy's foot with his muzzle and wet nose.

Outside, crickets chirped.

* * *

The next morning, Riza woke early, far before the sun rose. Her head was still buzzing from the thrill and shock of being reunited with the Colonel. Havoc, too was up already. She found him standing in front of the door of the room Riza had given Roy to sleep in.

"Second Lieutenant…" Riza said quietly. "Why are you up so early?"

Havoc shrugged carelessly. "Just… uh…" He took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. "I was waiting for… the Colonel… to come out."

"Why?"

He just shrugged again. "I want to talk to him."

Riza raised her eyebrows. "About what?"

Havoc grinned sheepishly. "I should apologize for hitting him like that."

She had to smile. "Yes, you should." They both fell silent and waited in front of the closed door, straining for any sounds coming from inside. Thirty minutes passed. At last, Havoc, without waiting for Riza's reply, put his hand to the doorknob. He opened the door.

"Oh." He said softly.

Riza's heart skipped a beat. Had something happened to Roy? "What is it, Second Lieutenant?" She went beside him. She closed her mouth.

The room was empty.

Riza went inside. "Colonel?" She shouted. "Colonel! Colonel Roy Mustang!" It was no use. He was gone. The bed was neatly made. Most likely he hadn't even slept in it. Riza cursed herself for not watching him more closely. It was obvious that he wasn't in the most stable of mental states. He'd been through so much. It must have been a shock for him to discover that they were alive and well. Where had he gone? There was no way of knowing –

"Lieutenant." Havoc said suddenly. He tugged at her arm, pointing. "Look."

It was the door of the washroom that was across the hall. There was light coming from under it. Riza slowly went forward, and put her ear to it; she could hear nothing. After a moment's hesitation, she gently pushed it open.

She came face-to-face with someone's bare backside.

She was so startled that she forgot to make a sound. It was obvious who it belonged to, yet she couldn't bring herself to believe it. It was Roy, standing over the sink, his shirt thrown over the side of the bathtub. His head lifted, and then turned towards Riza, who was frozen to the spot. His face showed not much emotion, just a mild surprise at seeing who had invaded his privacy.

"Colonel… I…" Riza couldn't tear her gaze away from Roy's shirtless body. It was the body of a predator – or was it prey? – tense and ready to bolt. The muscles in his shoulders were lean and wiry; he seemed underfed but somehow still gave the appearance of power. Every inch of his flesh seemed to be battered in some way. There were scars and breaks in the skin everywhere. Riza could only imagine where Roy had acquired all those.

He deliberately ignored Riza and reached for his shirt. Just as he was pulling it on Havoc's voice came from behind Riza. "Colonel? Lieutenant?"

"We're fine." It was Roy who spoke. It was the same voice he always used back when they were in Central's offices – smooth and with authority. "Why don't you go make some breakfast, Havoc? I'm starving."

"Er… Yeah, sure." Havoc blinked and replied uncertainly. Riza knew he was no cook, but seeing the awkward situation, he wisely went off without another sound. It was then Roy looked to Riza. She was startled at how cold his dark gaze was. For a moment it was like someone she didn't know – a complete stranger. A second passed, and Roy turned away.

"Colonel…" She put her hand on his shoulder. It felt so firm, even without his stiff uniform on. Riza could sense him flinch every time she or Havoc called him by that rank. Hesitating, she asked, "Do you want to have some breakfast?"

He picked up a towel and wiped his face with it. "Yeah."

Riza watched as Roy limped his way past her. Riza had rejoiced when she'd thought that he had returned. Her happiness, she now knew, had been brief and false. It pained her. She realized that Roy Mustang hadn't really come back. It wasn't really him. He was a stranger, a criminal, a hardened man that she barely knew. His story had held no surprises - he'd done awful things. People had done terrible things to him. It would have been stranger if he had remained the polite military officer.

She desperately wanted him back by her side once again. She'd do anything to have it that way. Anything, even if he was no longer striving for a goal she thought so noble, even if now, she could be thrown into jail for helping him. She knew that inside, Roy Mustang must be the same man she came to trust and respect. How deep? That she couldn't say. But he was there.

Or so she was telling herself, willing herself to believe it.

**TBC**

Hey guys! How did you like it? Reviews will be appreciated!


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